


Boys With Sweet Teeth

by aroceu



Category: The Social Network (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Dentistry, M/M, general silliness, i call it very close talking, references to adolescent boys being adolescent boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-26 19:57:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9919955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aroceu/pseuds/aroceu
Summary: A high school love story that is for some reason centered around dentistry.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I got my wisdom teeth removed on Friday so I ended up writing this right afterward.
> 
> Also, pretend that the sisters who have coincidentally-the-same-names-as-rl!Mark's-sisters are OCs.
> 
> **Available in Chinese[here](http://yexiu1113.lofter.com/post/1e21ac59_f820e6b) ([part 2](http://yexiu1113.lofter.com/post/1e21ac59_f888785))**

Mark grumbles in the plush chair, pretending like he’s not plotting against his sisters. The waiting room is low-lit and actually not that bad, what with one corner stocking kids’ magazines that Mark grew out of by the time he was five, and a slightly bigger center in the middle with boring adult things like  _People_  and the  _Economist_. Mark will take  _Time_  for the sake of current events, but magazines are annoying in general.

That’s where he’s sitting, anyway, since the kids’ corner is occupied by a parent and their two kids who are whining about how they don’t want to have their teeth cleaned or checked, it’s  _scary_. Mark snorts. His dad is basically the opposite of scary, which Mark would say even if he weren’t his dad. And getting your teeth cleaned isn’t that terrifying, even if it does lead to a threat with a vegetable-only diet after he finds his fourth cavity because you keep eating too many Red Vines and drinking too much Red Bull. Mark doesn’t even technically have four cavities; he had three on his baby teeth that had all fallen out, and only one now. And he’s not really interested in the kids’ section, even if he’s pretty sure there are at least three issues of  _Highlights_  for him to mark up the Hidden Pictures section and ruin the fun for kids to come in the future.

He scowls and puts  _Time_  back on the coffee table. There’s a newspaper there; at least they have crossword puzzles. Mark props his feet up onto the table and ignores the glares he gets from his dad’s receptionists, and grabs a golf pencil from the table and begins filling in the answers.

As he does the puzzle, the door to the office rings back and forth; patients come, patients go. It’s only eleven in the morning and Mark is confined to the waiting room because he doesn’t have anything else better to do. Well, he  _would_ , but it’s really not his fault that his hacking on his dad’s computer—the family computer—messed up his entire patients’ and records’ system. Really.

It’s not until someone plops into the chair near his side—because Mark is in the middle of a sofa that could hold three people, if it wanted to—that Mark jerks out of his befuddlement at the simple clue,  _9\. Down:_   _Recondite_. The person who’s sat down near him seems to be a guy around his age, in a respectably out-of-place and formal-looking black overcoat, and has five issues of  _Highlights_  in his hands and a golf pencil.

He doesn’t notice Mark staring for a moment, drawing—circling?—frantically in one issue. Mark knows he’s really not one to talk, but—

“ _Highlights For Children_ ,” he says. “Really?”

The boy glances up. When he sees Mark with his newspaper and own golf pencil, he merely grins. “You sneer, but the Hidden Pictures section is really fun,” he says.

“I know,” Mark says automatically, then wishes he hadn’t.

The boy’s own smirk turns wider. “Do you, now?”

“That’s not what I—ugh.” Mark huffs, turns his eyes to the ceiling, and then comes back down to this conversation he really did not mean to strike up. “Well you shouldn’t be defiling the magazines meant for other patients.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m allowed to, that’s why we’re both holding pencils,” the boy points out again.

Somewhere in the back of Mark’s head sounds like his fencing referee calling,  _Mystery Boy: 2, Mark: 0_. Mark ignores it.

“Whatever,” he says, and decides to ignore Mystery Boy, too.

But Mystery Boy doesn’t seem to pick up on this—either that, or he barrels on, like he’s one of those charming idiots in Mark’s classes who aren’t really his friends but like to talk with him even when he’s rude on purpose and Mark has a stupid crush for all of three days. “I’m Eduardo,” he says. “Have you been waiting long to see Dr. Zuckerberg?”

“Oh,” Mark says. He’s not sure if saying that his dad is the dentist would make him look incredibly lame or… he’s not sure what the other option is, but it’s definitely not cool. “Uh. I’m waiting for someone to come out.”

Eduardo nods. “I see,” he says, and then drops the conversation, returning to, assumingly, working on all the Hidden Pictures that Mark could be doing himself. Mark doesn’t know why he’s disappointed by this.

He tries to return to his newspaper, but now that he’s aware of Eduardo, it’s distracting to realize how fast he works them out. He speeds through the five issues in the span of what certainly feels like five minutes, laying the ones that he’s finished onto the coffee table, tapping the end of the pencil against his chin if it takes him less than three fucking seconds to find something in the picture. Mark mostly hides his face with the newspaper like an old person, but he’s stunned. Even  _he_  can’t get through them that fast.

When he’s done, Eduardo puts the last copy down and looks around expectantly. A few other patients have come in and out. Eduardo peeks at Mark, who is watching and quickly hides his face with the newspaper again.

Nevertheless, Eduardo asks, “Are you here with family?”

Technically, yes. Mark answers, “Um, yes. My sister.”

“Cool,” Eduardo says. “What school do you go to? I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before, but I’m also new.”

 _New_  is pretty relative, but come to think of it if Eduardo was a new kid at school, Mark would’ve heard sooner or later. Eduardo is annoyingly attractive, though  _not_  the reason Mark has been pretending he hasn’t been staring at his face for the past few minutes. And usually when annoyingly attractive new kids come to their school, both Dustin and Chris proceed to fawn. Over everyone.

“Uh, I go to the local public school.” Mark jerks his head, then realizes that that doesn’t actually indicate anything. He tries not to blush. “Blind Brook.” Westchester is really just rich and pretentious white suburbia, but at least he does like his friends.

“Oh, that explains it,” says Eduardo. “I’m going to a private school, I don’t—” He breaks off and scratches the back of his head suddenly. “I don’t know why I assumed you would’ve gone too.”

“Because I look like private school material?” Mark says dryly, gesturing to his khaki shorts and Adidas flip-flops and hoodie.

Eduardo laughs lightly. “Definitely,” he says, brightening up in a way that makes Mark think that he doesn’t take him that seriously. Which is good—Mark doesn’t want people he likes to take him very seriously. “I’m a senior,” Eduardo continues. “How about you?”

Mark’s about to answer; but then at that moment, Rachel, one of his dad’s assistants, calls out, “Eduardo Saverin?” from the door leading out from the waiting room to the back.

Eduardo stands up and smiles apologetically at Mark. “That’s me,” he says. But before leaving, he actually extends his hand for Mark to shake. “It was nice meeting you…?”

Mark blinks, then supplies, “Mark.” He’d forgotten that he hadn’t even told Eduardo his name.

Eduardo’s smile is even wider now. “Nice to meet you, Mark,” he says, as Mark takes his hand and shakes it. He leaves to go back with Rachel, who is watching the two of them (well, Mark) curiously.

Mark pretends he is not checking out Eduardo’s backside as he leaves.

*

Some inordinate amount of time later, while Eduardo is still at his appointment, the room echoes with a bang. Ari bursts through their father’s back office, which is in the back of reception but has a separate door on the side. She strides over to Mark where he is still working on the crossword puzzle, and demands, “Why are Audrey and Casey making jokes about your attempts at flirting?” Audrey and Casey are two of their father’s three receptionists today—the third is an old man, named Jim, who doesn’t do much except paperwork and grovel about lunch.

Mark stares up at her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says, even though he does.

For a twelve-year old, Ari can be pretty belligerent, especially when she smacks Mark across the knee where his feet are still perched on the edge of the coffee table. “Ow, what the fuck,” he says, rubbing it.

“Mom says you’re not allowed to swear in front of me,” Ari says.

“Mom doesn’t know that you swear every time you read the Harry Potter books,” Mark shoots back. “And you know me, Ari. I don’t  _flirt_.”

It’s at that moment when the door to the back opens, and Eduardo comes out with Rachel again, chatting happily and grinning at something she’s saying. “I wish my kids had that kind of discipline on their oral hygiene,” Rachel’s saying to him.

Eduardo says, very seriously, “I have an expectation to live up to. All my grandfathers for the past five generations haven’t gotten a single cavity,” and Rachel bursts into laughter.

“Well, it looks like you’re on that way too,” she says to him. “We have your paperwork and everything, so you’re free to go.” She hands him a plastic bag of the standard stuff the office sends to patients after appointments—a toothbrush, floss, a small tube of toothpaste, and mouthwash—and Eduardo says bye before heading toward the exit/entrance door.

Mark watches him, wondering if Eduardo’s completely forgotten all about him, with how friendly and— _people-person-y_  he is—but then before he leaves, Eduardo glances over his shoulder and catches Mark staring.

Mark quickly casts his eyes down, but then back up.

“Bye,” Eduardo says cheerfully, wriggling his fingers at him. The door shuts behind him.

Mark is still staring into space until he earns another whack on the knee. “Jesus, Ari!” he says, but his sister apparently does not care about inflicting early arthritic pain on her brother.

“What was that?” she demands. “That was  _flirting_ , I know it, I’ve read romance novels before, you know.”

“Too much, maybe,” Mark mutters, rubbing his sore kneecap again. He refuses to answer Ari’s questions, even when she tries to pester him over  _9: Down, recondite_. Eventually she leaves to play some stupid game on the computer again instead of something important Mark  _could_  be doing. Mark pretends he’s more irritated by that, than he is by the so soon and gone presence of a boy named Eduardo.

*

Weekdays—high school—is par for the course; in other words, filled with people much stupider than Mark and occupying time he could be doing more productive things, like working on the program he’s been piecing together for his father’s office. His own netbook has pretty shitty wifi so he only works on localhost and connects with an ethernet cable if he needs to go online, which is fine because he just might end up arguing with internet cretins until 2am on slashdot.

The only good things about high school anyway are Chris, Dustin, and acing classes without putting in much effort. Sean, who’s a senior and a year above Mark, used to make this qualification, before Mark realized that Sean had a pretty girlfriend named Amy who’s a senior too, and that kind of made Mark’s crush on him in AP Calculus fizzle away. Now Sean just looks rude and obnoxious, but Chris and Dustin had always told him he was rude and obnoxious.

Mark considers Chris and Dustin not being included in the good things about high school, except Chris gets him an extra bag of baby carrots (the only vegetable Mark likes) at lunch and Dustin tries to do a dumb trick with his fish sticks and ends up snorting milk all over himself, so they’re not that bad.

So as far as high school goes, it’s okay. Mark doesn’t mind studying for the SATs, which are clockwork but systematic, and every so often AP Calc throws a question at him that he doesn’t get within the first five minutes, which is annoying but fun. He’s actually working on his math homework in his father’s waiting room the next weekend, since he’s still banned from the family computer anyway, glancing from his textbook to his notebook and scribbling in it, when the door to the office rings.

Mark doesn’t look up; for the most part, his father’s patients are whiny or boring, not much for interest in between. So it surprises him when the weight on the cushion next to him sinks down, and Eduardo is peering over his shoulder to look at his homework.

“Calculus?” he asks.

Mark stares at him. “What are you doing here?”

The moment the words leave his mouth, he realizes how rude they sound. He tries not to blush or give away about how apologetic he feels. Mark usually intends what he says, and if he had the choice, he wouldn’t apologize to near-complete strangers.

Eduardo laughs, anyway. “That’s a fair question,” he says. “I’m getting x-rays done. Why are  _you_  back?”

Mark blanches. “Oh,” he says, half-remembering the lie he’d come up with last week. Fuck, he can’t remember the details—if there even  _were_  details. “Um, actually—” he begins.

And of course Ari chooses that moment to burst out of the back office again, this time with his other sister, Donna, in tow. “I  _knew_  I heard you talking!” she says to Mark, or rather, shouts, getting the attention of the other patients in the waiting room.

Casey, from reception, says, “Ari, shh.” She’s better than Jim, who doesn’t like children and is glaring at Ari behind his eyeglasses.

Usually Mark doesn’t like Jim much either, but today he can sympathize. “Yes, Ari, it is something I’m capable of,” he deadpans, before turning back to Eduardo. “This is my sister Ari. And Donna, I guess. Our dad’s Dr. Zuckerberg.”

Eduardo’s eyes widen. “ _Oh_ ,” he says. “Well, that explains why you’re here and not getting kicked out then.” He turns a slight smile onto Ari, who blushes and shuffles her feet.

“It’s just that last time, I was telling Mark that he was—” she begins, but seems to think better of her words, either because she’s magically generated a brain or has noticed the way Mark is glaring daggers at her.

Donna slides in smoothly. “Being more social than he usually is,” she finishes, for Eduardo. “You see, our dear brother is a social recluse and misanthrope.” She’s fourteen and was probably looking for a reason to use those words. Mark glares at her too, but Donna’s usually the one capable of ignoring Mark best.

“Well, we can change that,” Eduardo says. “Mark and I have become friends already.”

“We have?” Mark says dryly.

Eduardo smiles at him. “I was under the impression that we have,” he says. “Though if we’re not, you can tell me to fuck off whenever.” He adds the last bit cheerfully.

Ari looks a bit scandalized (which is rich when Mark is pretty sure she’s sneaking copies of Nora Roberts books under her bed) and Donna says, “Ari, let’s leave Mark alone with his new  _friend_ ,” and drags their sister away, shooting Mark one last glance before disappearing into their father’s study to abuse their computer privileges in Mark’s face. Mark hates them.

But most of all he hates how difficult it is for him to say, “No, I... we...” He tries not to falter, to look more like he’s finding the right words rather than gathering the courage to say them. He’s pretty sure Eduardo is laughing at him, anyway, but he doesn’t want him to get the wrong impression. “We’re friends,” Mark says. “If you want to be.”

“I don’t mind,” Eduardo says. “I  _did_  sit down with you again, after all.”

“You did,” Mark agrees.

He turns his focus back to his homework, though the back of his neck feels warm—whether it’s at the proximity of Eduardo, or the establishment of something so—bizarrely close as a friendship after barely really having had more than two conversations within the past week. Calculus distracts him, at least enough, and he scribbles down answers without really noticing that Eduardo has taken it upon himself to hover above his shoulder.

“You’re really good at Calculus,” Eduardo says, after some minutes have passed.

Mark shrugs and tries not to be too pleased by the compliment. “I like it,” he says. “Though I’m pretty good at memorizing things I don’t care about, too, like the periodic table of elements.”

Eduardo covers his mouth. Mark is pretty sure he’s making fun of him and doesn’t want Mark to know, even though Mark is pretty good on picking up on that kind of thing. “You clearly don’t fail in the modesty department, either,” he says.

Mark nudges him, though in a friend way. At least, he’s pretty sure it’s in a friend way. Chris does it to him a lot. “Well, I have to be good at basic things,” he says. “I want to get into Harvard.”

“Oh, that’s—” Eduardo stops and squints for a moment. Mark thinks that he’s said something wrong, but Eduardo doesn’t seem to be mad or upset. “That’s ambitious,” he says.

Mark shrugs.

“And kind of coincidental,” Eduardo adds. “I applied for Harvard last fall. It’s my top choice.”

Mark remembers him telling him that he’s a senior; and Eduardo sitting here and talking to him is  _intimidating_ , suddenly, because Mark’s just a lowly junior still studying for his SATs and keeping his GPA up. “That’s—wow,” Mark says, trying to keep his voice casual. “That is coincidental.”

“We’re a bunch of nerds, aren’t we?” Eduardo says, grinning.

“I prefer using the descriptors ‘intelligent’ and ‘capable,’” Mark says, but his facial muscles can’t help from a dimpled smile flashing across his face. “What makes you think you’ll get into Harvard?”

“I hope you’re not intimidated by  _my_  intelligence and capabilities,” says Eduardo, though not seriously. “But that is a fair question. I beat a chess grandmaster when I was 15, and I like charting economic algorithms. And in general.” His eyes are sparkling, which Mark didn’t think was possible for a human person to do. “What about you?”

Mark shrugs again. “I’m still a junior—” he begins.

“Ah, right,” says Eduardo.

“—but I’m working for a program for my dad’s office. And I’ll probably make something else before the end of this year.” He looks up thoughtfully. “I like programming and websites.”

Eduardo nudges him, so Mark takes his own earlier gesture as a connotative success. “Perfect for the dotcom era we’re in,” he says.

Mark groans. “You’re going to be a business major if you get into Harvard, aren’t you?” he says.

“Close,” Eduardo replies. “Economics.”

“Of course,” Mark mutters, jotting down the answer to a problem he’d been working on in his head while talking to Eduardo.

Eduardo doesn’t seem fazed, picking up a newspaper and flipping through it as Mark continues his homework. He grabs a golf pencil like last time, and scribbles something, while Mark does math beside him. It’s strange, because an overwhelming admiration has hit Mark in such a large wave before—but not in the way where it at least seems instantaneously mutual, or natural. Eduardo is content enough to do whatever he’s doing with the newspaper, finishing writing whatever he’s writing in it after a couple of minutes, before picking up the  _Economist_. Mark can’t help letting out a snort this time—and Eduardo notices and flashes him a quick smile, but doesn’t say anything.

Eduardo gets called out soon enough, and heads off to his appointment. Mark thinks it’d be weird to say goodbye to him, but Eduardo easily says, “See you later,” before disappearing with an assistant again, this time a guy Mark doesn’t really know the name of. Mark blinks and tries to return to his homework, but it’s not as encouraging with Eduardo gone.

Barely several minutes later, though, the assistant and Eduardo are coming back out, with the assistant saying, “... so sorry, god, if we knew this would happen we would’ve contact you right away.”

“It’s no problem,” Eduardo says, but there’s a slight frown on his face anyway. “I can reschedule.”

“Yes, please do,” the guy says. “I apologize again, it’s just that you’re our first x-ray for the day—and our machine is usually in perfectly fine condition.”

“I’m sure you’ll get it sorted out,” says Eduardo.

Mark is impressed with how much he can sound like, well, an  _adult_  when Mark knows he’s a teenager. Usually Mark just huffs or blinks and says, “Okay,” but Eduardo is doing his best to look gracious, Mark can tell. The guy directs Mark to the reception desk, but as soon as he’s gone Mark asks from the couch, “What’s up?”

Eduardo sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. It poofs a little and he flattens it back down. “The x-ray machine is botched?” he says. “Apparently. They tried to reboot it up eight times and it just kept flickering.”

“That sucks,” Mark says, because he doesn’t know what else to say to that. On the other hand, Eduardo  _is_  rescheduling for another appointment.

“It does,” Eduardo agrees, but adds, “It’s okay. I drive myself here anyway and I don’t really do anything on the weekends.”

“Oh,” Mark says. He gets up from the couch as Eduardo heads towards the receptionist desk, and joins him. It must suck being the new kid, even though Mark has lived here all his life.

Eduardo scratches the back of head, though, abashed. “Sorry, I made myself sound pathetic,” he says. “I do actually have friends, but two of them are really intense athletes, and one of them has been trying to get me to start a business monolith with him and take over the world.”

“Sounds difficult,” says Mark. “One of my friends is an anthropomorphized golden retriever, and the other is much better-looking and more socially adept than me.”

Eduardo quirks a smile at him. “I think you’re doing a pretty good job,” he says to Mark.

Mark has no idea what to make of that. Audrey the receptionist is watching them curiously, but Eduardo says, “Hi, sorry. I’d like to make another x-ray appointment next weekend. The machine wasn’t working today.”

Mark feels kind of weird watching and listening as Eduardo gets his dentistry sorted out; as Audrey punches in some information, Eduardo says to Mark, “I suppose you get check-ups every day, then, since he’s your father.”

“Unfortunately,” Mark says.

Eduardo raises an eyebrow. “What’s unfortunate about regulating good oral hygiene?”

“Nothing,” Mark says passively, but Audrey puts in, “Mark’s diet consists of mostly candy and soft drinks,” without looking up from her computer.

Mark scowls, but Eduardo looks positively charmed. Mark is beginning to have second thoughts about his interest in Eduardo, even though he knows he’s falling harder. “Oh god, now I understand,” he says. “Did your father become a dentist because of you?”

“You overestimate my ability to change people’s lives,” says Mark.

“I don’t think I do,” Eduardo tells him sincerely.

Audrey the receptionist tells Eduardo that his appointment is filed and made, and Eduardo thanks her and turns to Mark. “I feel incompetent, most people don’t usually come to the dentist’s three times a season.”

“You’re not incompetent; my dad’s machines are,” Mark assures him. “Well, you might be incompetent too, but I wouldn’t know.”

“I can’t tell if that’s a compliment or insult,” says Eduardo, but his eyes are crinkling in the corners.

He makes his way over to the door of the offices, glancing a few times back at Mark. Before he opens the door, he says, “See you next week?” It’s a question—and it takes Mark a moment to realize that no, Eduardo’s not reiterating that he’s coming back again, but asking if Mark will be here again, too.

Mark tries not to look nonchalant, though something inside his chest is doing tense flipping things. “Yeah, see you,” he says, and Eduardo beams before he leaves.

As soon as he’s gone, Audrey the receptionist says, “That was very cute.”

“Ugh,” Mark says, storming away from the counter. He doesn’t need his father’s receptionists telling him that he’s  _cute_. Or that his talking to Eduardo is cute. Whatever.

When he gets back to his homework, he instead picks up the newspaper Eduardo had been scribbling on earlier. It takes a moment for him to realize that this is the issue that  _he_  had been working on the first time Eduardo had come in—and flipping through the pages shows that Eduardo had been working on the crossword puzzle Mark had been doing. He hadn’t finished it, but Eduardo had gotten  _9, down: Recondite_.

The answer was  _abstruse_. Instead of feeling jealous or competitive, Mark feels fond.

Feelings are a disaster.

*

During the week, Sean offers for Mark to cheat from his paper during their exam, and Mark pushes back the offended flare rising in him and declines quietly.

He tells Dustin and Chris in gym, the (depressingly) only class that they have together.

“Most people would love to cheat from a super smart senior,” Dustin says, hitting the birdie with his badminton racket. “And then there’s you.”

Mark doesn’t care for tennis-like sports, and doesn’t even try as the birdie bounces past him. “It was an insult, he  _knows_  how smart I am,” he argues.

“I don’t think it was an insult,” says Chris, running to grab the birdie as Mark doesn’t really move. He hates everything about gym. “He was probably just trying to be nice.”

“Well, I took it as an insult,” Mark says. “I don’t need to be friends with a stuck-up senior who talks to everyone like he pretends he’s friends with them already.”

“So that crush is out of the question then?” Dustin teases.

Mark grabs the birdie from Chris and pelts it in Dustin’s direction without even using his racket.

Their gym teacher blows the whistle. “Zuckerberg!”

The three of them ignore it. Chris asks Mark, “What about your and Erica’s thing?”

Mark furrows his eyebrows. “What thing?” he asks. Erica is in his English class and sometimes they talk, though Mark isn’t sure if they can categorically be regarded as friends. He usually doesn’t think as such, because Erica can be pretty scary.

“She comes to you during lunch and asks you to help her with her essays,” Chris points out. “I think that counts as a thing.”

“That’s not a thing, I’m just better at essay-writing than she is,” Mark blurts before he can think about it. When Chris raises his eyebrows, Mark says, “I didn’t mean that. She just values my input.”

“‘ _Values your input_ —’” Dustin begins.

Chris takes the birdie from where Dustin had half-heartedly hit it back over to them, and pelts it at Dustin again.

Their gym teacher’s whistle chirps again. “Hughes!”

“Aside from Dustin’s unnecessary comments,” Chris says, ignoring, “you  _could_  just ask her out and see if she says yes.”

“I really doubt it,” says Mark, because he’s seen the way that Erica looks at Amy in English when they’re talking about commonalities between romance languages, or writing about passions for college applications and Amy always brings up judo. “Anyway,” Mark continues. “I’m not interested in Erica.”

“Then who  _are_  you interested in?” Dustin asks.

Mark’s mind immediately leaps to Eduardo. It’s silly, because they’ve only talked for only a handful of amount of times, and Eduardo is a really nice person who could probably go out with anyone he wanted. Mostly, that means he wouldn’t go out with Mark, because he probably has standards if he goes to a private school and wears professional-looking trousers and button-ups like he did last time.

And Mark takes too long to answer, because now Dustin and Chris are watching him curiously. “No one,” Mark mutters, and runs to grab the birdie to avoid their questioning looks.

*

Mark definitely does  _not_  look forward to the weekend, and when his grounding on the family computer ends that Friday, he astutely ignores the strange looks his parents send him when he marches down into the waiting room, instead, with another pile of homework because junior year sucks. Their house is actually right above the office—or, more accurately, their house’s basement is his father’s dentist office, and it’s a really big basement, big enough to fit large reception rooms and waiting rooms and the back where all the patient beds and machines are. It’s kind of weird to think about how Mark sleeps three floors above where his father does his day job, which is pretty conventional, but they can afford it and his father emphasizes working at his own pace more than anything. Plus, even though they aren’t that religious, they’re still members of a local synagogue so a lot of the Jewish community around the neighborhood (and then some) tend to know about his dad and like him as their regular oral surgeon, anyway.

By the time the weekend does roll around and Mark is sitting in the waiting room, doing AP US History homework, he hopes that Eduardo appreciates what he’s doing to talk to him, or whatever. Only hypothetically, because Mark is way too embarrassed to ever really tell someone that he likes them, especially a hot senior boy who’s really only just his father’s patient. He reads through the textbook, but raises his eyes every time the door jangles. Finally, faithfully, Eduardo walks in, perking up at the sight of Mark.

He checks in first, but then settles down beside Mark on the couch. “Hi,” he says. “More homework?”

Mark shrugs. “High school,” he says. “Junior year.”

“I sympathize,” Eduardo says, indeed sympathetically. “I won’t bother you, then.”

He gets up—and for a moment Mark thinks he’s going to leave him to sit somewhere else—but Eduardo merely grabs several copies of  _Highlights_  from the children’s corner again before returning back to Mark. He brandishes a pen from his coat and opens an issue, immediately alternating between marking up the magazine and twirling the pen with his fingers. Mark tries not to stare, though both Eduardo’s lively scribbles and long, slender fingers twisting around the pen are mystifying; staring is weird and, anyway, Mark  _does_  need to read this chapter for school.

After a few minutes, though, when Eduardo has breezed through two magazines, Mark asks, “How are you so good at that?”

“I like puzzles,” Eduardo says without looking up, tongue peeking out from between his lips as he scrawls a loopy circle onto the magazine. Mark peeks over his shoulder to see that he’s found something that looks like a badly drawn toothbrush in the middle of a badly drawn fence. “And these are for seven years olds, so they’re easy.”

“You do strike me as the type to channel your inner seven year old,” says Mark, and Eduardo knocks his knee into his, still while working on the Hidden Pictures puzzle.

Mark’s eyes rake over his APUSH textbook—he does have a test, but he usually procrastinates for lesser subjects anyway. He closes his book and says, “I like puzzles too. We can do a crossword together, if you want.”

He does his best not to sound presumptuous, but Eduardo lifts his head with his eyebrows raised, anyway. “Is this to get me to stop doing the Hidden Pictures so you can do them yourself?”

“Obviously,” Mark says. “You can see how much I’m angry at you for doing them for the past few weeks, haven’t I emoted enough?”

“You’ve emoted quite a bit,” Eduardo says, and again Mark can’t pin if he’s teasing or sincere. He closes his own magazine anyway, and puts the few still in his lap in a pile with the ones he’s already placed on the coffee table. “Are we finishing the one that you were working on before?”

Mark nods; it’s the one he’s grabbed and is still here because clearing out the waiting room is usually Ari’s duty, for five dollars. Mark wouldn’t do that for five dollars, but his sister’s twelve.

Eduardo doesn’t say anything about having worked on it the last time he was in, and Mark doesn’t say anything about how he’d noticed; they just hover over the crossword together in Eduardo’s lap, Eduardo holding the pen. Mark gets  _7 across: Fair weathered saint?_  with  _clement_ , and Eduardo impressively gets  _12 down: Eye of the storm_  with  _war of the elements_. They actually get it finished, just before another one of Mark’s father’s assistants comes out, calling Eduardo’s name.

Eduardo stands up, but he says to Mark, “We make a good team,” and it makes Mark feel more flustered than is fair.

“Well, we are both nerds,” Mark says, using his words.

Eduardo throws his head back and laughs. “Touché,” he says. “I’ll see you in a bit.” He leaves to go for his appointment, and Mark pretends he’s not riding on the high of making Eduardo laugh. At least this time there aren’t annoying receptionists or sisters to tease him for being interested in another human being. Mark is a teenage boy, and he really doubts anyone in Eduardo’s presence for longer than several minutes would dislike him.

He goes back to his APUSH textbook, though as focused as he is, the back of his mind is acutely aware that Eduardo isn’t present. It’s not afflicting, it’s just there, and also ridiculous since Eduardo isn’t even in Mark’s life on a daily basis, or actively. He’s just... easy to be around, and nice to talk to, and also for the past few weeks Mark’s been thinking about him while showering.

But no one can know that.

He makes it to the end of the chapter and quizzes himself with the review questions at the end, in his head. When he hears Eduardo’s voice and the assistant making their way out, he keeps his head bowed down, so it’s not obvious that he’s eavesdropping.

“... three of them are clearly distal, so you’ll want to get the removed as soon as possible,” says the assistant, except it’s not an assistant, it’s Mark’s dad. “The fourth is horizontal, and contrary to what people tend to believe it’s actually not  _that_  bad. But distal can impact your other molars much sooner. They hurt, right?”

“Sometimes,” says Eduardo, sticking a finger into his mouth to rub at a tooth. “Mostly they just bother me.”

Mark’s dad nods. “If it’s just an annoyance, it wouldn’t be half as urgent. But the angle’s also not very good to keep waiting.”

Eduardo fidgets and bites at his lower lip. “I would have to be drugged, right?” he asks. “In some way?”

“Yes,” says Mark’s dad. “There are also a few other oral surgeons in the area, but I also do wisdom tooth removals and my schedule isn’t  _that_  full, so if you’re interested I’d be happy to do yours too. But yes, you’d have to not eat anything by the midnight before, and you’ll be drugged so you need someone to take care of you for the day.” He looks around the waiting room, skimming over Mark like he’s not his son (which he likes to do to pretend to be professional), and asks, “Are your parents with you today?”

“No, I drove myself,” says Eduardo. “And my mother is usually busier on the weekends, and my dad’s out of town for business.”

“I see,” says Mark’s dad. “Do you want to schedule sometime in the future? Maybe during your next checkup in the summer, where you can come in with one of your parents?” He asks this gently, to Eduardo’s increasingly worried expression.

“I could,” Eduardo says, though he sounds slightly put out. Mark wonders why. “I wouldn’t be able to drive home either while drugged, right?”

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” Mark’s dad says kindly.

Eduardo sighs, thinking. “I don’t mind scheduling a wisdom tooth removal for the future,” he says. “I suppose I’d rather just get it done sooner than later.”

“Weekdays don’t work?”

“Chess club and FBLA are after school,” Eduardo says with a pained smile.

Mark’s dad pats him on the back. “An overachiever, I like that,” he says. “You’ll get along with my son.”

“I already do,” Eduardo says, stealing a glance at Mark.

His dad turns to him with surprise, and Mark continues reading even though his dad knows that he tends to eavesdrop even when inappropriate. “Mark never mentioned that to me,” he says, while looking at Mark.

Eduardo laughs lightly. “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”

“I don’t need to tell you when I make friends with your patients, Dad,” Mark says, still reading.

“Well, they do pay me,” his dad says.

Mark raises his eyes from his textbook. Both his dad and Eduardo are standing in front of the reception counter, like they’re about to make an appointment for Eduardo’s next coming in here, in the  _summer_. At the end of the summer, likely, since Eduardo has college (probably Harvard) then and won’t be in for all the months until then.

“And Eduardo can make an appointment for his wisdom teeth next week,” Mark says. “I can drive him home, if he wants.”

His father raises his eyebrows, but Eduardo positively glows. “That would be splendid,” says Eduardo.

No one says  _splendid_ , but now Mark’s pretty sure it’s going to be in his own regular vocabulary now because of Eduardo and this moment.

“With Eduardo’s car?” his dad asks suspiciously. “And I’m asking this as your dad, Mark, not as Eduardo’s dentist.”

“I have my license, I can drive,” says Mark. He doesn’t have his own car yet, though he’s pretty sure he’s going to get one for his birthday in a couple of months. “And only if Eduardo trusts me, of course.”

“Something like that,” Eduardo says, smiling at him. “I really wouldn’t mind, Dr. Zuckerberg, it’s fine. I do want to deal with my wisdom teeth as soon as I can, and your son  _is_  a delight.”

“I wouldn’t call him that,” says Mark’s dad, but he doesn’t question Eduardo’s judgment. “I guess we’ll make your appointment in the next couple of weeks then. Normally I’d have to sit you through a consultation, but we basically covered all of that during your x-ray...”

He and Eduardo discuss business and appointments with the receptionist. Mark turns back to his textbook. He doesn’t know what he’s doing—he certainly can drive, and he doesn’t really have anything better to do with his Saturdays, but he doesn’t really offer to take care of hot guys while they’re doped up on laughing gas. Then again, Eduardo’s whole face had lit up like he would like nothing more than Mark to take care of him while basically high. Mark doesn’t want to read into it, because if he does, he’ll get his hopes up, and when you look like Eduardo, you’re not interested in guys who look like Mark.

Eduardo does pause by the door again, though, as usual, to say goodbye to Mark.

*

“Mark’s made friends with one of my patients,” his dad says over dinner.

Mark stoutly does not look up over his food. Ari says, “Are you talking about Eduardo?”

“You know about him?” says their dad.

“We saw him and Mark hanging out in the waiting room a few weeks ago,” says Donna. “I think Mark’s got—”

Mark kicks her under the table.

Donna ignores him, even though she does wince in pain. “—a crush.”

Luckily, their parents are pretty supportive of all their pursuits, romantic and otherwise, like when Randi, who’s now in college, wanted to be an astronaut when she was thirteen. She’s studying astrophysics now. Mark is glad she’s not here to witness this conversation.

Mark’s mom does say, “Ooh, tell me more,” which is close enough.

“That does make sense,” their father says thoughtfully. “Mark did offer to drive him home after Eduardo’s wisdom teeth approval, but now I’m not sure if I want to give him permission.”

“You already made the appointment,” Mark says, picking at his asparagus. “It’s not an offer I can rescind. And why are we even talking about this?”

“Because it’s good to remind me that my brother is human,” Ari chirps.

“Why would you need that reminder,” Mark mutters.

His mother pats him on the shoulder. “Next time you see him,” she says, “you should invite him over for dinner sometime.”

Mark says, “I hate you all,” out loud, but at their smiles and on the inside, he knows that they know he doesn’t really mean it.

*

The next weekend is Eduardo’s wisdom teeth appointment, so Mark wakes up later than he does during weekdays and earlier than he does on the weekends. Under regular circumstances he would have spiraled into a clickhole on his dad’s office computer the night before and wake up just before noon, but then Eduardo just kind of happened and wisdom teeth appointments are even earlier than regular dentist ones, so Mark knows how early he has to be up to meet with Eduardo.

He doesn’t even technically need to be there when Eduardo comes in, just when he comes out. Still, he’s standing in the middle of the waiting room with his hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets when the door jangles and Eduardo comes in, in a Northface and t-shirt and jeans instead of his regular weirdly formal attire. He still looks incredibly good, which is unfair.

“Hey,” he says, lightening up at the sight of Mark.

“Hi,” Mark says, observing his face. “How’re you feeling?”

Eduardo chuckles. “Hungry,” he says. “Um, is your father in yet?”

Mark shrugs. “He’s probably still busy with something,” he says. “We can look over the Hidden Pictures if you want.”

Eduardo looks amused, but he says, “Okay,” and they make their way to the children’s section, next to a large stuffed cow animal that was probably Randi’s at some point.

Mark doesn’t know which ones Eduardo’s already done, so he lets Eduardo pick as they sit next to each other and hover together. Their knees touch despite the armrests blocking the rest of their sides; Mark thinks about moving his leg away, but they’re already touching so that just might even be weirder. He does his best to focus on the puzzle that Eduardo is enthusiastically marking up circle by circle, instead of the microscopic touch of their bodies.

Another patient comes in soon enough, a child and a mother, the child whining as he clutches her hand. Both Mark and Eduardo don’t say anything, though the mother and her child settle next to them, the mother trying to soothe her son. He tries to protest, but then he takes notice of Mark and Eduardo—which Mark notices, though he’s not sure if Eduardo does.

Mark points out a drawn pancake on the Hidden Pictures page, and Eduardo elbows him and circles it, grinning. Mark smiles at the side of his face, more because he’s pretty sure that Eduardo can’t see him.

The child is still watching—and Mark realizes his eyes are actually fixed on Eduardo’s pen and the magazine, like he’s wondering what’s so interesting about it. Also, Eduardo’s holding the back of the magazine straight up, so its colorful back cover is on full display for the child to see. There are a lot of other Highlights magazines on the table, of course, but Mark knows that the average child doesn’t care much for observational sense.

Eduardo finishes the puzzle (he’d been doing most of the work, anyway), but before Mark can mention anything about the kid to him, Eduardo closes the magazine, lifts his head up, and hands it to the kid. “Did you want to look at this?” he asks him eagerly, and the kid nods.

The mother thanks them, and Eduardo says, “It’s no problem.”

“I didn’t realize you were so generous,” Mark says, as the kid grabs a nearby golf pencil and starts scribbling rapidly, complaints forgotten.

Eduardo elbows him again. “Shut up.”

“You did most of that puzzle on your own.”

“It’s not my fault you’re slow,” Eduardo says teasingly.

“I’m not sure if that’s something you want to say to someone who’s been taking care of you all day,” says Mark.

“Why?” Eduardo says, amused. “What’re you going to do?”

“Remember all the stupid things you say so I can embarrass you with them to you in the future,” Mark replies.

It may be his imagination, but Eduardo’s eyes widen a bit at the mention of  _the future_. Mark doesn’t know why he said it, either, since they don’t even go to the same school—Eduardo knows where he lives, but only because he comes here for teeth checkups. And Mark doesn’t even know if Eduardo wants to hang out with him outside of that context.

“I do suppose I dread that,” Eduardo says, but smiling. Mark hopes that means what he thinks he means.

An assistant, Ruby, comes out today, to get Eduardo. As he stands up, Eduardo says, “I heard all the things about nitrous oxide are myths, anyway.”

“It only depends on how much your dentist gives you,” Mark says, because he does know this. “Good luck,” he calls anyway, and Eduardo flips him off in only what can be described to be an affectionate way.

The mother who had been so charmed by Eduardo before looks horrified.

*

Mark sits in the waiting room, raking through the Hidden Pictures Eduardo had gone through in the past couple of weeks—he did really get everything, which is more impressive to see on paper. He goes upstairs to eat breakfast for a bit, and realizes that he’ll probably have to feed Eduardo when he takes him home. He hopes Eduardo’s already bought soft food for himself, because he doesn’t particularly want to drag a drugged Eduardo to the grocery store.

After about an hour, Mark’s dad comes back out with Eduardo, who has his face wrapped in a tight band with an ice pack at the bottom, gauze in his mouth. Mark’s dad is clutching him by the arm even though Eduardo seems to be fine standing on his own two feet. “Mark,” his dad says, and Eduardo’s entire face lightens up immediately.

“Hi,” Mark says, going over to them. His dad hands Eduardo’s arm over to him, and the split second of hesitance shows Mark why he has to help him—Eduardo wobbles, and Mark grabs onto his upper bicep right away.

“He’s giggly, but fine,” his dad says, smiling at Mark. “He can still do things and answer you, but with over-exaggeration.”

“I am a good amount of exaggeration,” Eduardo says defensively, and Mark tries not to laugh. “Hey. Hey Mark, you’re smiling.”

“You know the procedure, right?” Mark’s dad says, because he’d done Mark’s wisdom teeth when he was fourteen though Mark had opted out of the laughing gas option.

Mark nods. “Soft foods, replace the gauze until it stops bleeding, don’t gargle, salt water, keep using the ice pack for twenty-four hours.”

“And here’s his ibuprofen.” His dad hands him the bottle of pills. “He shouldn’t brush his teeth, too, because it can very easily irritate and infect the bleeding. If he wants to, he can do it  _tomorrow_.”

“Okay,” says Mark, because the look on his dad’s face seems to be implicating a completely different message. “I’m leaving now.”

“Drive safe,” his dad calls, as Mark hauls Eduardo toward the door.

Eduardo stumbles, but only because Mark wants to get away before his dad can say something embarrassing that Eduardo would surely comment on. Eduardo is just staring at Mark, though, dopily. It makes Mark self-conscious, but not in a terribly bothersome way.

“What are you looking at,” Mark mutters, as they break into the early spring air.

Eduardo smiles. “Nothing,” he says. And then, “You.”

“I am nothing,” Mark agrees.

Eduardo crashes his shoulder into him with more force than necessary. Mark winces and Eduardo says, “Fuck, sorry. But you’re not nothing. Really.”

“I know,” says Mark. “Otherwise you’d have no one to take you home.”

“You make a really good point,” says Eduardo, as Mark looks around the tiny parking lot around the back of his house and realizing he doesn’t even know what Eduardo’s car looks like.

Eduardo points it out to him easily when he asks, though, a black sedan parked in the middle. As he pawns his keys off to Mark, he asks, “Do you have a car?”

“I don’t,” Mark says, pretending not to be embarrassed.

“Oh.” Eduardo’s face falls as Mark helps him into the passenger seat. “I was hoping we’d both be able to drive places to hang out when this is over.”

Mark feels a flush creeping up his neck. “I, I mean,” he says, standing in the open doorway of the passenger side. “I can get my parents to drive me, you know. Or you can pick me up, if you want.”

The smile returns to Eduardo’s face. “I do want,” he says.

Mark gets into the driver’s seat and takes the directions he’d printed out from MapQuest from his hoodie. By legalities his dad couldn’t give him Eduardo’s home address, so Mark just went on the system when no one was looking and memorized it. Eduardo doesn’t live that far, anyway, just a fifteen minute drive, and though Mark does trust Eduardo to be capable of telling him the directions to his house, he doesn’t want to put the doped up Eduardo through that.

He drives them there, turning on the radio that Eduardo hums to—or at least to something—while the music plays. Mark feels kind of awkward, since he’s supposed to be Eduardo’s friend, or something like that, so he asks, “How was the treatment?”

“It was fine,” Eduardo says happily. “Your dad  _does_  use a lot of laughing gas.”

“People tend to prefer it,” Mark says.

Eduardo hums again. “It feels really good,” he says. “But I think I just like being in my car with you. This is the first time we’re not hanging out at the dentist’s you know.”

Mark bites his lip in amusement. “I know.”

“I know you know,” Eduardo says, beaming merrily. “I guess it’s not the dentist’s for you, anyway. Except your dad is your dentist. So maybe he is. Do dentists dentist their own teeth?”

“Do you make no sense when you’re high?” Mark says.

“We have the same dentist,” Eduardo says, then giggles. “My mãe said that your dad was the highest-recommended dentist in the area who also happened to be Jewish, so she liked him right away.”

“Those are interesting prerequisites,” Mark comments.

Eduardo doesn’t seem to notice, and barrels on, “But I’m glad she did, I liked you right away too. I’m really glad I met you.” He beams at Mark. “I mean, I really like my friends from school, too, but—you’re  _Mark_.”

“I am,” Mark says, trying to focus on the road.

Eduardo’s finger is on Mark’s lips, then, just very gently, resting across the seam while Eduardo observes his face from the side. “You have a really pretty mouth,” Eduardo says, stroking it. “And your face is so pretty, too. And your mouth.”

Mark is pretty sure he can’t breathe, which he’s also pretty sure is a hazard while he’s driving. He wants to choke out,  _You already said that_ , but Eduardo’s finger is still on his mouth and it might accidentally slip between his lips. Or on purpose. Oh god, now Mark is thinking about sucking on Eduardo’s long fingers that can twirl pens.

He just waits until Eduardo has withdrawn his hand, barely affected. Mark turns onto his street then, anyway, and doesn’t even have to think about what to talk about next.

“Holy shit, your house is  _huge_ ,” Mark says, and it says a lot since Mark knows he’s pretty wealthy himself.

Eduardo shrugs and nods, but his cheeks are pretty dark. “Yeah, I… yeah,” he says. “It’s. I’m rich.”

Mark nods emphatically, going through the gate and down the drive. “Where should I park?” he asks, trying not to be weird that Eduardo had just told him that he has a pretty face. And a pretty  _mouth_.

Eduardo cheerfully says, “Over there!” and points to a middle empty garage door in a row of who knows how many. Mark counts eight. He stops the car and helps Eduardo out, skin tingling with every brush and prolonged contact.

“Thank you so much,” Eduardo says, as Mark steadies him by the elbow. Eduardo is looking less wobbly on his feet, but Mark frowns anyway.

“Do you think you can walk by yourself?” he asks.

Eduardo nods. “I think I’m good now,” he says—but he tips over again. For a second Mark thinks they’ve both misjudged him, but Eduardo just bumps Mark’s shoulder and says again, “Thank you. You really didn’t have to do this.”

Mark isn’t sure how much people retain when they’re drugged, so he mumbles, “I wanted to,” and Eduardo beams at him.

Eduardo leads the way to the door, fumbling his keys out of his Northface and jamming them into the lock on his second try. “Mom goes to galas and parties for my dads on weekends,” he says. “So she usually spends the day out shopping with girlfriends.”

“That’s fine,” says Mark, because it would be immensely awkward to meet her. And also because he wouldn’t have an excuse to spend all day with Eduardo in his house.

He shuts the door to the garage behind them, clutching the bag his dad had given to him to look after Eduardo. Eduardo marches into the next room and says, “I’m hungry,” which makes sense when Mark follows him and sees that they’re in the kitchen.

Eduardo has opened the refrigerator door. Mark asks him, “Do you have enough soft foods?”

“Bought them yesterday,” says Eduardo, pulling out a packet of applesauce and frowning at it. “Why did I pick applesauce?”

“It’s not that bad,” Mark says, though he’d eaten nothing but ice cream on his first day. “C’mon, go sit, I’ll get food for you.”

Eduardo pulls back and sends Mark what he’s sure is meant to be a sly smile, though with the drugs in his system he looks more immensely pleased than anything. “You’re going to take care of me?” Eduardo teases.

Mark rolls his eyes, pushing Eduardo away from the fridge and towards the kitchen table. “That’s why I’m here,” he says pointedly, and begins to untie the ice band from Eduardo’s head. “And you should probably take the ibuprofen.”

They get Eduardo settled with his medication and a soup Mark decides on, since Eduardo had said that he wants something that tastes like a meal but had no particulars towards whatever soup that was stocked in the pantry Mark found. Mark puts the band and the ice pack in the freezer, too, takes out the gauze from Eduardo’s mouth, and helps him rinse himself out with salt water before the both of them eat, Mark getting something microwaveable and easy for himself since Eduardo had told him to help himself. He watches as Eduardo eats; Eduardo is starving, clearly, but by the time he’s done his eyelids are flickering like he’s exhausted.

“Are you tired?” Mark asks. Eduardo shrugs but his drooping eyes give him away. “That’ll be the aftereffects of the anesthesia. C’mon, you can take a nap.”

“But,” Eduardo begins, then stops.

Mark frowns at him. “But what?”

Eduardo shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says. Mark can’t tell if it’s the drowsiness or the laughing gas wearing off.

He gets the ice pack back on Eduardo’s head and lets Eduardo lead him around the house to his room. “If this were a normal circumstance, I would give you a real tour,” Eduardo says as they march up the stairs.

“You can later,” Mark says. “Just take care of yourself and rest and shit.”

Eduardo smiles at him. The laughing gas is definitely wearing off—it’s dimmer than the ones he gave Mark in the car, but Mark tries not to worry too much about it. “Which one’s your room?” Mark asks once they get up the landing.

He walks Eduardo to his door, though decides not to go inside (as much as he wants to) because that would be stepping into his privacy and Eduardo is too fatigued to really stop him or say anything about it. Plus, Eduardo probably has a giant bed for Mark to fantasize about when he’s in the shower, so it’s just really not a good idea in general. He stops outside, and Eduardo does too, swaying like he wants to say something before he goes.

“What?” Mark asks.

Eduardo chews on his bottom lip. To Mark’s disappointment he doesn’t even look at Mark’s mouth again. “Nothing,” he says. “But—”

“If you’re going to thank me again, just go already,” says Mark, shoving him lightly.

Eduardo’s mouth slants upward for a second; then he disappears without a word.

*

Mark explores all of three rooms in Eduardo’s ginormous house before discovering a dusty but impressive DVD collection and a plasma screen TV. Even though he doesn’t consider himself a really avid movie person, snooping around the otherwise mostly empty house would make him feel like a burglar, and also might be weird if Eduardo’s mom came home earlier than expected. Mark decides to watch some film that claims itself to be an Oscar winner, sitting on the couch and wishing that he either had his computer, or Eduardo sober and awake to keep him company.

It’s only an hour when Mark hears a thumping down the stairs—well, down the flight that’s in the TV room, not the same as the one Eduardo had showed him to his bedroom. Eduardo’s making his way down, the band around his head lopsided and the two pieces of gauze out of his mouth and between his fingers. His face looks pink and swollen with sleep and his hair is a general mess, and Mark still wants to kiss him so much.

“Hey,” Eduardo says croakily. His lips twitch at the sight of the TV. “ _The Full Monty_?”

Mark shrugs. “It’s not that bad,” he says. “How—Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Sore.” Eduardo rubs at his jaw. “And the ice pack isn’t cold anymore.”

“That’s what happens when you nap for an hour,” Mark says, getting up from the couch to help him.

He takes the band off of Eduardo’s head even though he’s sure he can do it himself, even with the wet bloody gauze in his hands. Eduardo doesn’t protest, though, and they walk into the kitchen. Eduardo throws his gauze away into the trash, and Mark shows him how to check if he’s still bleeding, which thankfully he isn’t.

“Oh, good,” Eduardo says delightfully. “Now I don’t have to feel like a chipmunk anymore.”

They get him rinsed out, and then Eduardo grabs strawberry ice cream from the freezer before they return to the living room and the movie. Mark sits back where he was before, and like always, Eduardo sits right next to him. Their hips are close enough to brush if either of them move, which Eduardo does to hand Mark his spoon.

He seems sane and awake enough and Mark’s heart is thumping loudly in his ears; taking care of Eduardo had distracted him, but made that full feeling in his chest even bigger with all the smiles Eduardo had sent him. Eduardo laughs at something in the movie, and Mark fumbles with his spoonful of ice cream, shoving it into his mouth and keeping it there so he doesn’t do something like accidentally drop it.

He taps the cool metal against his lips and then decides, oh, fuck it. “Wardo,” he says, the first syllable dropping off naturally like it’s nothing.

To his mild astonishment, Eduardo responds. “What’s up?” he asks, turning from the TV screen.

Mark nervously sucks the spoon into his mouth, and then out again. “When we were in the car and you were drugged,” he says, “you kind of said—um—you told me I had a pretty mouth.”

Eduardo’s face colors. “I’d hoped I’d dreamed that,” he says. “I thought I—”

“It—It’s not a bad thing,” Mark says quickly. “I don’t mind—I mean—does that mean you want to kiss me?” He asks the last question very fast.

Eduardo is staring at him hard, his face unreadable—and it’s not uncommon, but after seeming so open and comfortable with Mark for the past few weeks, it kind of throws him off. Mark sucks back on his spoon, even though the ice cream flavor is completely gone from it.

Then Eduardo sighs and takes it out of his mouth. “Stop it, that’s really distracting,” he says. “And yes.”

Mark’s heart stutters. “Yes? You want to—kiss me?”

“I want to kiss you,” Eduardo confirms. He holds Mark’s gaze. “Do you want to kiss me?”

Mark could grin like an idiot—so he does. “Only if you taste like ice cream and no blood or sleep,” he says.

Eduardo groans. “Oh god, I can’t promise that,” he says, but he’s tilting towards Mark, anyway, pressing their lips chastely together.

It’s a kiss. Not as much as Mark would want if Eduardo hadn’t just had gotten oral surgery done; but it’s good enough. “Just no tongue I guess,” he says against Eduardo’s dry lips, and Eduardo laughs.

“No tongue,” he agrees, and Mark can feel every curve of his smile. “Does this even qualify then?”

“I think it does,” says Mark. Eduardo doesn’t exactly smell fantastic, but it’s good enough and he can forgive the lingering salty taste in favor of Eduardo pressed so close to him. “It meets my qualifications, at least.”

“I suppose that’s all that matters,” Eduardo agrees. “So does this mean I don’t have to go to your dad’s office every weekend to see you?”

“Unless you have serious dental problems,” Mark says, and Eduardo laughs again, right against Mark’s mouth, the slight tremor against his skin the best feeling in the world. “But my house is right above it, if you want a change of scenery.”

“I’d love that,” says Eduardo, and their lips are still pressed together, having shifted so they can properly talk against each other, not  _really_  kissing—but breathing each other in in increments, sharing the same breath and smile.


End file.
